


the realization that it's okay to be okay

by moodyme



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Prompt Fill, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Violence, it could be considered graphic but I legit do not know, sorry - Freeform, the violence is because of what canonically happens to Niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:30:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyme/pseuds/moodyme
Summary: Ronan, acknowledging that he has depression and getting treatment.





	the realization that it's okay to be okay

**Author's Note:**

> written for baroque-poetess on tumblr. Thanks for the prompt, it probably isn't quite good, but it was therapeutic for me!  
Not really shippy, but hey! You can read it that way for whomever you want to ship him with! It's cool!

When Niall Lynch died, it had created this _thing_ inside of Ronan. The thing carved out a place in his head and heart, burrowed itself deep, and became a parasite that feasted on Ronan's soul. He had, at the time, gladly welcomed it. 

Because, the truth was? He wanted to hurt. Wanted the sting of the tattoo needle on his skin. Wanted the dull haze that covered everything. Wanted the sleepless nights. Wanted the exhaustion during his daylight hours. Wanted the the headaches that came from drinking too much. Wanted the pain that came from crashing his body against the pavement. Wanted the looks of reproach and scorn and disgust.

Because, his dad. His dad's blood and brain and bits of bone had been splattered out at his feet like some kind of sick attempt at abstract art. Like a macabre Jackson Pollock. Like something from a Tarantino movie. Over the top, and unbelievable.

Except it was real. Was shockingly, earth shatteringly real.

And it made him want to hurt.

The _lack_ of feeling that came after those first few days of bone-crushing sadness was almost a relief. Would have been, if they didn't feel so much like a betrayal. Because that's what it was. The pain was what he deserved. He's dad was dead, and his dad deserved to have someone feel like every breath was a struggle. Like every day being alive was unfair, because his dad hadn't gotten any more days. Like if he wasn't feeling pain, if he wasn't thinking about the hole his fathers death had caused, than he was betraying his dad's memory.

On the first morning he woke up and his dad's corpse wan't the first thing he thought of, when the pang of his death wasn't the first conscious feeling he felt, as soon as he realized this? It crushed him. Because he was letting his dad's death slip from the forefront of his mind.

And, oh, sure. People always fucking talked about how 'You'll get over it,' or 'It'll hurt less, some day,' but what those fuckers didn't seem to realize, no matter how damned good their intentions were, was that he didn't _want_ to get over it. Didn't _want_ it to hurt less.

But.

But hours turn to days turn to weeks turn to months turn to years.

And, somewhere along the way, his mom dies. It doesn't hurt precisely as much. She had already been so much _less_ after Niall. But it still hurts like getting his heart ripped from his chest. It's a familiar hurt, the loss of a parent. 

And Gansey dies. For several moments, the parasite grows outside his chest and head to consume his entire being. But Gansey, through some miracle he doesn't understand, comes _back_. Lives again. Breaths again. And the parasite retreats back to its now comfortable home in his heart and brain.

(And Adam leaves, but that's a temporary thing. It doesn't leave him shattered. Or his breath ripped from his lungs. Or lying in bed for hours, with no desire to get up or move or think or _live. _)

But more hours and days and weeks and months pass.

He finds himself, after hours of arguments about _why_ from everyone (still living) that had ever claimed to love him in any manner, at a doctors office. Not the kind with a paper covered examination table that you have to strip or pee in a cup in or get pokey needles in. But a. A therapist kind of doctor.

(Because somewhere in those hours of arguments, he had looked some things up himself. Had found a name for the parasite in him. Had decided he should try this therapy thing with his own free will.)

He tells the doctor (who he had somewhat expected to have a little Freud mustache, and is somewhat disappointed when she doesn't) about the parasite. About not actually wanting to get better. About how that would be a betrayal.

She listens. For a long time. And then, when she opens her mouth? What she says? Sounds like an impossible thing.

"Ronan, it's okay to be okay," She says.

He want's to tell her that, no, it isn't okay. That he _has _to hurt, or else feel nothing. Or, at least, be angry. Because those are his settings. Familiar. Well worn. Comfortable, like a broken in pair of Doc Martens. He wants to tell her, so he does. Says it in a growl so she understands his anger, too.

She goes on to tell him, so show him, that he's scared to let this go, not because it's a betrayal to feel better. But because he's scared of being better because this parasite, depression, is all he's know for such a long long time now.

"And it's okay to be scared, to feel like you're losing a part of yourself," She says, her voice even and controlled, "But, Ronan? It never really was a part of you. It's something you _have_ not something you _are_."

That first session isn't a magical cure all, some fancy dues ex machina for his parasite. For his depression. But he keeps going, and the therapy helps. The medicine helps too for awhile, until they don't. Until he gets a new prescription, one that actually helps way more than the old one ever had. Talking about it with his friends helps. The fucking yoga, he admits through clinched teeth, helps a little.

He still has bad days. But he also recognizes them as _bad _days and not just a _day that ends in 'y'_. His therapist says that's an improvement. He feels like that's true.

Hell, he still gets bad weeks, weeks where he has to drag himself to get out of bed, to shower, to brush his teeth, to eat. But he can call his friends now, have them talk him down. Or he can make extra therapy appointments.

So, he still has bad days, maybe he always will. But he also has good days. Great days. Fucking awesome days. Weeks, sometimes.

He's getting better. Slowly. And the parasite is still there, burrowed deep inside. But it's smaller, now. Manageable. Maybe, someday, it'll be gone completely. And Ronan thinks that that day will be the best day.

And, above all, he knows it's okay to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yo, as someone that has had (still has? maybe? eh, it comes and goes lol) depression, sorry if I wasn't able to like. Quite write it well? idk, I'm probably way off. Sorry.  
That being said? If you need help, don't wait years and until you watch a magical forest duke it out with a demon while your friend gets magically revived. Do it now! Its okay! It's a super strong thing to do, getting help!


End file.
